


In Infant Bands Crown'd King

by BethNoir



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Dark Fantasy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fix-It, Pyrrhic Victory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 19:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20644268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BethNoir/pseuds/BethNoir
Summary: Gendry's curious if Arya can trust him, but finds something else on her mind.





	In Infant Bands Crown'd King

“I’ve not got the first fucking clue what to do with the place.”

Gendry looked around the entry hall. The repairs underway were from the castle’s disuse instead of any real damage from the war. The people were perplexed at the new lord who took Renly’s place. They spoke mournfully of the absence of Loras, and all openly spoke aloud of what the hell was going on in Westeros and what was all the madness that’d gone on in King’s Landing.

As it all went on, Arya was sat on a ledge by the stairs, almost as immovable as a statue. Gendry carried on like she was listening.

“I mean, I’m not ungrateful, but the fuck am I supposed to do with a place like this? Can’t expect me to sit on my hands and let all else do the work, do they?”

Arya said nothing.

“Any idea?”  
“No.”  
“You’ve got more experience than me and the like-“  
“I’m not a lady.”  
“Aye, you’ve said as much. I know that.”

The rumors came first. The Dragon Queen arrived burning and pillaging with claims she was a liberator. He’d fucked off from Winterfell as soon as he realized the siege on King’s Landing would be a suicide mission. He was grateful to have his title, but unlike his brothers, he had all the sense they lacked. It was disloyal, but it kept him alive. And after the fires and rumors came the news it was Arya Stark who killed not only the Night King and all the uneven winters brought with him, but the Dragon Queen herself. 

What startled him all the more was when she appeared in his hall, out of breath, shaking the rain out of her coat, and without alerting any of his guards. She’d told him to fuck off out of Winterfell and her bed, then suddenly turned up like a rat that’d survived a drowning. She didn’t want to be touched, or spoken to, but he had food and drink delivered, and a discrete place to sleep.

Troops were sent from King’s Landing and the Dragon Queen’s command to look for Arya, but Gendry’s plebian attitude and molasses thick accent gave them all the reassurance that they would not find Arya Stark there and they could fuck right off. He was as silver tongued as Varys when he leaned into his accent and emphasized the swears just right.

The weeks passed. The seas calmed. The army from across the ocean returned to the homes they left behind, and the only people who came round Storm’s End were refugees looking for work. The people of Storm’s End were pleased to have a little peace, and only gossiped among each other about the Stark girl. It was better for all of them she had her privacy there. But they did take to the kitchens to wonder a little more loudly what was going on between her and their Lord Gendry.

Himself only watched her in hopes she would speak.

“You all right?” He asked.  
“Fine.” She reiterated.  
“You sure?”  
“You keep asking.”  
“Aye, well, you’re happiest when you’re killing things or swearing at them or working on your weapons, but when you’ve been sitting and not doing nowt for some weeks now, it’s not that I’m concerned you’re going to go all soft on us…” He invited himself to move a little closer to her so he could read her face more easily. “It’s more like I’m worried you’re below the water and I want to be sure you come up for air now and then.”

He wasn’t manhandling her into working out her feelings on the battlefield, or pressuring her into sex, or anything else that would take her mind off things. It was fine she wanted to think about it. He just wanted to be sure she wouldn’t get lost in there.

“Do you remember Yoren?” she finally asked.  
“I’m shite with names,” Gendry admitted.  
“Fellow from the Night’s Watch. Took us from King’s Landing to the Wall, until Lorch and the Lannister men caught up.”

Gendry remembered. “What about him?”

He loved having her there, but hated watching her mind work, like she was turning a coin over and over instead of screaming or cursing at someone. Like she couldn’t decide which side she liked more, as if it mattered. It still cost the same.

“He told me about the man who killed his brother. Used to say his name every night before bed, like a prayer. Finally had the chance to kill him and it’s why he wound up on the Wall…”

“And?”

There was a long pause before she said:

“I’m starting to forget my father’s face…”

Oh, that was it. He’d only met the man in passing, but the calm exuded from him was like rain from a cloud. He was one of the rare people in Westeros who wasn’t barking, and it cost him his life. Arya wasn’t one of those ladies who constantly bandied her father’s name around to get what she wanted out of him. She adored the man for letting her be who she wanted to be. He loved her. Genuinely loved her in a way most children never had in the country, and she was there when he was murdered. No wonder it made her mad with revenge.

The years since then hadn’t been a battle against the winter or the fire or the names on her list. It was a fight between her humanity and her revenge. 

“When I was in Braavos,” Arya said, “I couldn’t commit to the Many Faced God and become no-one because I couldn’t let go of it. I thought I was going home to be Arya Stark, but by doing that, I almost became no-one by forgetting everyone.”

Gendry wasn’t sure, but something passed through her like a ripple of thunder, like a sob almost burst out of her and she made it pass into nothingness.

“Jaaqen said if you’re still someone, the faces are like poison. And…I needed to kill those people, whatever was left of them, but in a way, I think…it meant I was wearing their faces. Does that make sense?” She turned to him to ask. Gendry gave her all the respect she deserved.

“Some of it,” he admitted, “but I think you know best if it does. Sounds about right.”

She’d been taking her gloves on and off all morning, like she couldn’t make up her mind about if she was going to ride away, or stay a little longer. This time she was taking them off.

“I’m going to have to lay low for awhile,” she said. “Daenerys still has loyalists here. Not a lot, but she was loved. They would have left some of their people here to look for me.”  
“You stay as long as you like or go when you please,” said Gendry. “Would rather you be safe here than somewhere alone. At least here you’ll have help.”  
“And I’m not a lady. I’m not going to have children, or wear dresses, or host parties, or anything else a lady is supposed to do.”

Gendry didn’t dispute any of it

“But…can I come round, sometimes?”  
“Course. It’s your home as much as Winterfell. We can get you a different room all made up if there’s a better one you like.”  
“I don’t need a room.”

Gendry didn’t point out she’d need somewhere to stay if she was going to visit.

“Did you want to share mine?”

She said nothing, but smiled a little, and seemed relieved he made the offer.

“If I give you a hug, are you going to put that toothpick through me?” Gendry asked.  
“Fuck off.”

Gendry walked over to her, and since she made no sign she was going to cut his throat with Needle, he put his arms around her and hugged her as tightly as he dared. It was fine she wouldn’t hug him back, but she let her head rest on his chest and that was enough.

“You come round now, you here?” said Gendry. “Don’t want you forgetting my face. If I forget yours, I might be so posh by then I’d set the dogs on you.”

He just wanted her to laugh. He was about to pull away but she put her hand on his arm. Stay. If she wanted to be affectionate, it might take longer than he’d hope for, but this was enough. He couldn’t imagine what she saw in King’s Landing or how she got out alive. 

The siege had all gone to shit when that last dragon was poisoned with wing rot and the Targaryen queen went mad. Arya’s whole quest to kill Cersei Lannister had to take a hard turn when she heard Jon was in danger. And at the end of it all, her brother was so broken from grief he quit the south, rode north past Winterfell, and was beyond the Wall and any hope of return. If he went to the Lands of Always Winter, maybe no-one would call him Stark or Targaryen ever again. All because Arya stole the face of Jorah Mormont and used it to save his life.

Sansa’d grown cold as ice, only more so than What-Once-Was-Bran. The Stark pack survived, but all of them were so numb with grief it was only after the war had been won that the pain began to set in. No happy joining of hands and smiles for them. The wolves took their time apart to lick their wounds. Their father was still beheaded and buried in Winterfell. Their mother swollen by the river water and eaten by the fish and crabs. Brothers dead and who knows where. Maybe in time they’d reunite, but they all had their own paths now.

If Arya was going to cry, it probably wouldn’t be around him, but Gendry was pleased he could be the one to guard the One Who Was Promised. That this could be a place where she could shut herself away, sob until her ribs creaked and her lungs collapsed for her father, her mother, brothers and sister and country and friends alike, and she could emerge red-eyed and swollen and ugly and raw and weak. She’d trust him to understand. Never a queen or lady or mother would she be, but she liked him the most and trusted him.

“You sure I can come round?” Arya asked.  
“‘Course.” Said Gendry. “Need someone to make weapons for your grand adventures?”  
“…yes…”, she confessed.  
“Can I come with you sometimes?” He asked.

She sniffed, already trying not to cry at the relief of finally being allowed to be vulnerable. She snapped her head around to get her hair out of her face.

“Won’t be a proper lord if you’re not at home.”  
“Well, seeing how proper lords have spent our whole lifetime looting and raping and killing and lying, think it’d be a nice change for the people if I arsed off around the country for a bit.”

She exhaled, shifted her weight, and put her arms around him.

“That wouldn’t be so bad.”

It took time, as all wounds do. She disappeared for days at a time, but the food tray outside her door was always emptied and she emerged when she wanted company. Until one day she showed up at the forge in her riding suit and wanted him to come with her.

They rode out of Storm’s End and into the Reach, content to keep King’s Landing at a distance. She showed him Nymeria’s tracks and those of her pack by the Stoney Sept. They lingered only a little in Riverrun and when she said she needed to do something, he trusted her and only privately prayed to the gods they wouldn’t need to take off at a gallop. Only it was worse when he heard the distant sound of her sobbing, and had to trust her wish to leave her be. She didn't say a word when she returned and only told him later that night about her mother.

She stopped again when they came across a farm. There were hundreds, probably thousands just like it with the roof collapsed in, weeds grown through the floor, and retaken by the wild sometime ago. She asked him to stay nearby, but not out of worry for any danger. Only to keep company with her, and say any prayers he might know. The ones she knew were for gods these people didn’t keep.

There was food at Hot Pie’s and the happiest reunion they’d had since finding each other at Winterfell. The evening ended with drink and screaming when Gendry learned Arya had been Tywin Lannister’s cupbearer. No matter how horrified he was with her, she only laughed harder and reminded him they all did poor things in war. He was convinced she even liked the old bastard too. He’d forgotten about it by morning and they took their time leaving the room, and its comfortable bed.

The whole time Gendry knew her, and even when she was gone, Winterfell was always the center of her eye. It was a fixation with almost a religious fervor, like a zealot or a Red Priest where if she believed deeply enough in its return, it might bring her family back. She didn’t go near the garden where she met her fate. She didn’t talk of her memories or fondness for the place unless she was asked, and even then she kept her answers brief.

Sansa was as cold and hard as the winters of Westeros, but something in her seemed to soften by the time they were leaving. A sort of gladness for her sister’s happiness and trust they would return again, like spring flowers breaking through the thin ice of a winter’s end.

When they stood along The Wall, as the sky turned a rich mauve from the overcast sunset, Arya wondered if they might return home.

“Sure,” said Gendry, “but mind you, I’m in no rush. We can be, if you’d like…”  
“Not really,” said Arya. She kept staring at the horizon, like if she stared long enough, a shape might appear from the forest that grew darker by the moment. So she could say a proper goodbye, or even say she was sorry. She’d saved the world, but what a sacrifice she made, having to drive away the only living person in her family who’d loved her and understood her.

And when What-Once-Was-Bran would come out of his meditations and his bindings with the Old Magic, he would look kindly at them and refuse Arya’s request to find Jon or pass on her message.

She was crushed, but would never admit it, even if the rough handling of her gloves and saddle bags outside the Wall, betrayed her true thoughts.

“Look, it might not be my place,” said Gendry, as he fully registered the glowering look Arya gave him was like that of a dog about to bite. “I think if there wasn’t a chance of ever seeing him again, he’d say something of the like. Even if he does talk in riddles. What’s the odds he just needs time to wander and mend and put himself back together? Before he feels right about seeing you? Always said that one was noble. He probably knows you did what you had to do, but might feel right awful he didn’t do enough to stop it before you had to.”

The murderous look on her face softened. Gendry was so proud of how fierce she was and how a legend of Westeros wanted to be with his common company, but there was something deep and un-nameable in him that moved him when his words could pull her out of a blood rage and back to her humanity. He got to be her anchor when she needed mooring and she wanted to feel happy again.

Arya sniffled, from what she would claim was the cold, and took her reins up.

“We didn’t stop by Clegane’s Keep,” said Arya. “Not much there, but wonder what would be. Want to come with?”  
“I got nowhere else I’d rather be,” said Gendry.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to give Arya the ending she deserved. I'm one of the unpopular ones who enjoyed most of the finale season, but I didn't like how the battle between Arya's ruthlessness and her humanity was lost. I liked that she was coming around to her humanity again, and I wanted to give that back to her.


End file.
